Ivory
by kenzimone
Summary: They had no right to be angry at him. No right at all. [AU]


**Title:** Ivory

**Author**: kenzimone

**Summary:** They had no right to be angry at him. No right at all.

**Authors Note:** I wrote this a good 6 months ago, but never got around to posting it. It's been collecting dust on my hard drive. It's an AU, so keep that in mind while reading it. I have no idea where this came from, so beware that it might be slightly...twisted.

**Pairings:** J/V, T/B, H/C

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, don't claim to.

Ivory

Her bedspread was blue. She'd never really noticed before. Never really taken the time to actually look at the threads woven tightly together, to run her fingers over the soft material. Blue. Such a general description. Dark blue, light blue, greenish blue. The cover was light blue, she had decided. Grayish light blue, like the sea on a stormy day. Small threads of gray and green were present among the light blue ones in the fabric.

She lightly ran her fingers over the cloth. To think, that she could have just gone on, and never noticed it. Someone had actually made this, carefully placed each thread in its rightful place, experimented with different shades of blue until the perfect color combination emerged. Someone had put so many hours into this single bedspread, and she would have never noticed.

So many hours of someone's life, work, and she would have never known.

A tear escaped from her eye. She watched it fall, landing soundlessly on her hand. Running down her index finger, as she sat silent, watching it. The blue darkened some where it hit the cloth.

White. Blue. White. She had paled. She hadn't been outside in a while. She'd lost weight too. She'd always been skinny, now she was _bony. She wouldn't eat. Couldn't eat. Whenever she did, she threw it back up. It wouldn't be right for her to eat, anyhow. He couldn't eat anymore, so why should she?_

Clutching her hands to her chest, she choked back a sob.

They were so worried, she could tell. Worried, and angry. Angry at _him. More tears fell. They had no right to be angry at him. He was wonderful, caring, smart, sensitive, he--_

She began rocking back and forth.

They had no right.

-----

When he entered the kitchen, she was sitting at the table, her hands around a cup of-- tea, coffee? He couldn't be sure.

Sinking down in the chair opposite her, he reached out a hand, gently touching her arm.

"Hey."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. Perpetually red rimmed.

"Tyler." A ghost of a smile formed on her lips. "Hi."

"How is she?" It wasn't an ignored subject in the house. On the contrary, it was all they ever spoke off. How to help her, how to get her better. It was beginning to get unhealthy, in his opinion. The only person who could help her wasn't there, and had never been.

She sniffled, reaching one hand up to push a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "I-I managed to get her t-to eat a sandwich this morning, but sh-she threw it b-back up."

He stood and moved over to the chair beside her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she began to sob.

"Sh-she's so th-thin, Tyler. All she d-does is cry and sh-she looks s-so miserable." She buried her face in his chest, and he could feel her tears soak through his thin shirt. Kissing her forehead, he closed his eyes, feeling his own tears run down his cheeks. "I-I tr-try to t-talk t-to her, b-but she j-just t-turns away."

She looked up at her, and he could feel his heart break at the forlorn look in her eyes.

"I-I know y-you're not s-supposed t-to hate other p-people," she hiccupped, as he used his thumb to wipe away the tears that slowly made their way down her cheeks. "B-but I d-do."

He watched her close her eyes and take a shivering breath.

"I hate him s-so much, Tyler. A-and that makes me a b-bad person."

She looked up at him for reassurance. He wet his lips, not knowing how to respond.

"I know. I hate him too, Brooke."

And he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

-----

The dark spots were gone. Dried up, dead, gone. Her cheeks were dry. Her eyes puffy. Blue eyes. Blue.

She had first met him seven months before. No, she corrected herself. Not _met. Spoken to. She had first spoken to him seven months before. In a sense it had been completely accidental._

_Destiny_, a small part of her called. Normally she would have silenced it, the rational her would have silenced it. But no, she asserted, beginning to rock slightly again. There hadn't been anything accidental about it. It had truly been destiny.

It had been a Thursday night. Her on again off again boyfriend had been out of town to visit his grandparents. Her sister was out with her friends, and her parents were at a parent teacher conference at her sister's school. She had been alone.

Finding herself bored out of her mind, she had logged onto the internet and gone to the MSN homepage. There she did something she hadn't done since she was fifteen. She logged into her .NET Passport account and started skimming the titles of the chat rooms.

Unlike her best friend, she didn't find it very entertaining to talk to virtual strangers over the internet, but at such a time of complete boredom, even that seemed better than to sit and watch documentaries on TV.

One room caught her attention. Jane Eyre? She had recently read the book in English class, and found that she'd liked it. To discuss it with another fan seemed rather compelling.

She was disappointed though, when she soon found out that it was just another punk who hadn't done his book report due the next day, and was wondering where he could find a copy to pass off as his own.

She was about to log out again and go to bed when she read what he claimed to be the reason he hadn't been able to finish the report. EMT duty. She was suddenly intrigued. The small town where she lived had once planned on having an EMT squad. She had singed up for a position, but the squad never made it from ink on paper to reality.

She'd approached him and soon they were in the middle of a conversation about his EMT squad. If she had been put off when he'd confessed that he was only on the squad as a result of shoplifting she'd soon dismissed it. The way he had about him made her like him. Soon they were exchanging email addresses and tidbit facts. His name was Jamie, and he was seventeen, just like her. He lived in a small town close to the Canadian border, unlike her sunny Californian home.

And she ended up sending him her old book report.

-----

"Val, please." Caitie was close to tears. "Please, for me? Just eat something. Look, you don't have to eat the whole sandwich, half will do."

Caitie was disturbing her. Holding a plate with a sandwich in her trembling hands. She didn't want to eat. Didn't feel like it. Didn't deserve to eat.

She looked at her friend's hand, pale with black chipped nail polish adorning her nails, resting on top of her own. Yes, Caitie was pale, but she was paler.

It was hard to stay pale in the Californian sun. Caitie used gloves, hats. Stayed inside instead of going to the beach. Always in the shadows. It suited her.

She, however, enjoyed the feel of the sun on her skin. As long as she could remember, her skin had been a rich bronze color. Blonde, tanned, blue eyed. Californian girl.

It wasn't like that anymore, though. No, she was much paler.

-----

They looked up as she closed the door behind her, looking dejected. Brooke sighed, making Tyler hug her closer. The sandwich was still on the plate, untouched.

Caitie sat the plate down on the table, pushing it away from her as she sank down into a chair. "It's no use." She tilted her head forward, her hair falling like curtains of black to cover her face. Tyler could hear her sniffle.

"Give her some time."

Brooke stood, reaching for the plate with jerky movements. Walking towards the sink she dumped the sandwich into the waste-disposal. "It's been two months."

"Oh God." Caitie started to cry.

-----

She'd logged into her email account the very next day. He'd written her. 

She hadn't really known what to feel. A little apprehension, a little excitement? As she always pointed out to her best friend, even though he said he was so or so, he could really be an eighty year old serial rapist looking for his next victim.

But something deep inside of her told her that that wasn't very likely.

In the mail, he'd thanked her for the report, adding jokingly that whenever she needed any help with her homework, just to email him. She'd laughed at that, doubting that he would be able to deliver an A grade essay should she ever forget to do her homework.

He'd also added that he'd be online at 6 p.m., would she like to chat. She had smiled. Yes, she would very much indeed.

At 5:54 p.m., she logged into her MSN Messenger. He was already online, teasingly telling her that she was early. She'd just replied with a winking smilie.

They talked for four hours. She quickly found that they didn't have much in common, but somehow that was what kept them talking. Sharing knowledge, opinions, about scenarios that the other would probably never experience.

For half an hour they discussed a recent rave he'd been to, her gaining insight into something she'd long thought beneath her. In return she told him about a school play she'd played the lead in a few weeks before. It took him some minutes to warm up to that subject, but then he was asking her questions, marveling at the planning such a project required.

When she at last had the courage to mention the eighty year old rapist theory, he had laughed and sent her the address to his EMT squad's webpage. Her nervousness had been somewhat purged when she saw his name in black and white.

Jamie Waite.

Unusual last name, she'd commented. At first he'd feigned uneasiness about her knowing his last name, but then he'd explained that his father was a descendant of one of the French migraters.

Then he'd demanded proof that she wasn't the eighty year old rapist. She'd smiled at his wording. Feeling unusually confident, she gave him the address to her school's homepage. There would be a picture with her name somewhere there, she told him.

After five minutes he'd found it. 'Lanier? That's nice. And you're pretty,' he'd typed. She'd blushed and inquired after his picture.

'In due time,' he'd responded.

-----

"What if it doesn't work?" Brooke was tired. It had gone on for so long. She was just so tired, would do anything to just stand up and walk out of this whole mess. In a way, that was selfish of her, but sometimes she couldn't but help feel that...that that _shadow_ of her sister was the selfish one. And sometimes, she hated that shadow almost as much as _him._

"If it doesn't work, I-I don't know what else to do." Tyler finished dialing the number.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the kitchen. Brooke was staring down at the surface of the table, and Caitie was clinging to the newly arrived Hank, as if he was her lifeline. Hank was focusing on comforting his girlfriend, his softly whispered nothings almost but not quite piercing the silence.

"Hello?" It was Tyler's voice that at last did break it. "Yes, hello Mr. Waite. My name is Tyler Connell, and I'm a friend of Valerie Lanier--" He trailed off, listening to what the person on the other line said. 

"He talked about her?" This caused Brooke to look up. "Yes, she mentioned him too. Look, I know that these past two months have been very hard for you, and--"

The silence was deafening.

"You would?" Tyler's voice shook slightly. "We would really appreciate it. We're so worried about her, we've never seen her like this before." He bit his lip to keep from rambling. "Yes...Yes. Okay, thank you."

Three pairs of eyes took in his every move as he, with a trembling hand, ended the call and placed the receiver on the table.

"They're coming."

-----

Over the next two months she'd talked to him every day. To her, he was just so full of knowledge, he was everything she wasn't. In some strange way, they completed each other. He, simply put, made her a better person.

Her family and friends noticed the change in her. Her father commented on the spring in her step, her mother on how she was always smiling. Her friends did complain that she wasn't spending enough time with them anymore, but agreed that she seemed happier. Her boyfriend broke up with her, but she hadn't stopped smiling for that. While at another time it would have hurt her, broken her down, it didn't seem important now.

Because she was falling in love with Jamie Waite.

She had never seen his face. Never heard his voice. She'd preferred it that way. She could honestly say that she wasn't falling in love with his appearance – she was falling in love with his _being_. She knew everything about him, his faults and his strengths. And she was being drawn to him as a bee to honey. 

She'd bought a web cam. That was the first step. Then she made sure he bought one as well. Outwardly smiling at his complaints about being utterly broke, on the inside she was scared. Terrified that her Dream Jamie, the one she'd pieced together from all of their conversations, wouldn't match up to Reality Jamie.

Looking back, she wouldn't be able to sort out all the thoughts running through her head the moment his face appeared in the corner of the screen.

Dark short hair, dark eyes, mischievous grin and pale skin due to living in such a cold climate.

He was everything she wasn't, her complete opposite. And even before his voice rang out through the speakers, she'd been head over heals in love.

-----

"Should we tell her?" Brooke looked up as Hank gently broke the silence that had once again fallen. Tyler, who had stopped stroking her hair when Hank spoke, started again. Brooke fell into his touch.

Caitie trembled. "What's the use? She's not there. She's just...just gone." Hank placed a kiss on her temple. "I was in there talking to her, and she didn't look at me. Her eyes were distant, like she was somewhere else. Like she was up in Canada with _him." She spat out the last part._

The others remained quiet, letting her words sink in.

"I think, that if there's the slightest chance that she's still listening, that she's still responsive, we should tell her."

Brooke shuddered at the coldness she felt coming from Hank's words. This was her _sister, not some...not someone else. She berated herself. He was right._

"I'll go."

-----

They became closer, if that was possible. Seeing each other, speaking to each other, it just made them...more complete? She sighed, closing her eyes. Yes, that was it. More complete.

He'd told her that once he graduated, he would drive down to California to see her. She'd begun counting down the days.

Her parents had begun to worry. She would spend hours on row in her room, behind a locked door. But they hadn't broached the subject with her – she still got straight A's and seemed as happy as ever.

She'd been so happy. Now she didn't even know if she was capable of feeling happy any longer. She just felt numb. Like all the happiness had evaporated, letting grief spill into the space it'd previously occupied. Letting it take her over.

_"-al? Val, Jamie's mom and..."_

Brooke.

Couldn't they just leave her alone? She didn't want to come back. She wanted to forget the present, and give herself over to the past. For her, the present was undesirable. But they wouldn't let her.

They always brought her back.

_"...coming down to see you..."_

She hated them, just as they hated him.

And while they had no reason to hate him, she _did_ have a reason to hate them.

-----

The looked at her as she stepped put of the room.

"I-I think it worked." She carefully closed the door. "When I talked to her, t-there was something in her eyes. They changed. I-I think I got through to her."

Tyler embraced her. "I'm glad, honey."

Brooke smiled weakly, but smiled nonetheless.

"I am too."

-----

It had been a Tuesday night. She'd been sitting in front of her computer, waiting for him to log in. He had been late.

It'd worried her; he was usually very punctual, trying to preserve every minute of time they had together.

When he did log on, he didn't activate his web cam. She'd spoken softly, asking him what was wrong. Slowly he'd started typing, but his words had been misspelled, as if he'd been shaking heavily.

It had taken her a few minutes to really understand what he was trying to say.

Something had happened a few days ago. He'd been on duty. There had been a car accident, a head on collision between two cars. Splintered glass had covered the ground, covered everything. There had been two people injured. A woman and a man. The woman had been bleeding heavily from the side. He'd had to use his hands to stop the bleeding.

She had been shaking as she read on.

On the way to the hospital the woman had died, although they had been able to save the man. Monday evening the man had woken up. He had told them that...The woman had...Jamie had tested...

He hadn't wanted to talk about it.

'Sweetie, tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow,' she'd whispered right before he logged off.

Jamie had tested HIV positive.

-----

"I have to get going," Tyler told them, unwrapping his arms from around Brooke.

Hank nodded, "Me too."

Brooke followed them to the front door, giving each a hug.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Caitie whispered as she pulled away.

Brooke nodded, waving goodbye as they stepped out through the door and headed down towards the sidewalk. Closing the front door and locking it, Brooke stood still a moment, listening to the dull hum of the refrigerator.

_Hopefully tomorrow will look brighter_, she thought as she walked towards her room.

Creeping down under her bed covers, she smiled. _I'm almost positive it will._

-----

Wednesday evening she'd been online an hour before their decided time. She had stayed at home from school that day – her mother beside herself with worry wondering why her oldest daughter spent the entire morning locked up in her room.

Jamie had been even worse. He had, after some coaxing, activated his web cam. He'd looked tired, drained. He hadn't cried, though. She'd cried for both of them. He'd spoken about death, scaring her some. About how he would never be able to live a normal life. He'd told her how the HIV would develop into AIDS soon enough.

She'd chided him, saying that he shouldn't be so pessimistic, and that he could go on to live close to a normal life.

He'd responded by saying that he'd rather die quickly, now, than to slowly wither away. She'd known what he'd been talking about. Crying, she'd asked him not to do anything, for her.

He'd agreed, telling her to talk to him tomorrow. Telling her that he really needed her now.

She'd agreed, signing off.

In the present, she could feel the tears rise. Clenching her hands so tightly that her fingernails drew blood, she choked back another sob.

A blackout.

The whole following day they'd been without power. She'd spent the day crying, praying.

When the power was finally restored, at 2 a.m. Friday morning, she'd known that it'd been too late.

The last mail from him, sent Thursday evening at 9 p.m., had simply said 'I love you'.

Knowing his name and address, she'd gone on a search for his phone number. At 10 a.m. on Friday she'd called his house. A woman had answered – his mother. Mrs. Waite's voice confirmed what she'd feared.

And yet, to be entirely sure.

'I-Is Jamie there?'

'Sweetie... Jamie's dead.'

She'd thrown the receiver across the room.

-----

The night air was cold, they could see their breaths condensate as they talked.

"I'm just really scared," Caitie confessed as Hank draped an arm around her shoulders. "Jamie made her so happy, and then he just...then he went away."

"Yeah." Tyler didn't know what else to say.

"You don't think--" Caitie turned to him, eyes large. "You don't think sh-she'll try to..."

Tyler bit his lip. "I don't know. Val's strong, you know... I hope not."

"Me too." Caitie's voice sounded tiny.

-----

She moved, the first voluntary movement she'd made in weeks. Her legs were unsteady as she made her way towards the bathroom, her hands gripping onto furniture and walls to prevent her from falling.

When she'd made it as far as her bedroom door she was walking quite confidently. She placed her ear against the door, listening. She couldn't hear anything. Opening it and stepping out in the corridor, she could faintly hear Brooke's steady breathing coming from the bedroom. She headed towards the bathroom.

She turned on the bathroom light, shielding her eyes from the onslaught of brightness from the fluorescent lights. Leaning over the sink, she stared at her reflection.

Her eyes were red, puffy. Glazed. They seemed more gray than blue. Her hair was unkempt; it hadn't been washed in days. It wasn't blonde any more, and it wasn't shiny.

Her skin. That was what surprised her the most. Pale, more so than she'd thought. Like ivory. She looked down at her hands. Ivory, bony. Dried blood under her fingernails.

This wasn't the Val she knew. This wasn't the Val _Jamie knew. _

She reached up towards the mirror, pulling at it. It swung open, revealing the shelves behind it. With shaking hands she began looking through the various bottles of pills lined up on the bottom shelf. Woman on a mission.

Her soul was already dead, so it wouldn't matter what happened to her body.

She found it. _Digoxin_. It had been subscribed to her father after he'd started to experience problems with his heart. Using unsteady hands, she managed to get it open after a minute or two. It was full.

She began shaking harder. She didn't know exactly how Jamie died. Maybe he used pills – she would think he did. Maybe this was his way of telling her that it was okay. Full, what are the odds that the bottle would be full?

Gripping the bottle in a vice like grip, she exited the bathroom, not bothering to turn the lights off. As quickly as she dared, she headed towards her bedroom.

Slinking inside, she locked the door behind her and walked over to her bed.

The bedspread was soft. She smiled slightly, running her hands over it. Pretty. Such a pretty color. She had noticed – _appreciated_ – the splendor of it. Appreciated every carefully placed thread. Very pretty.

Picking one pill from the bottle, she stared at it, as it lay in the palm of her hand. If she didn't focus on it, it sort of merged together with her hand. White to white. Disappeared. She closed her hand up. Gone.

Stretching out on her back, she felt the pill against her skin. Slowly raising her hand, she placed the small capsule on her tongue. Swallowed. Smiled. Completely painless.

Felt the bedspread under her hand. So very soft. Perfection. Hopefully someone else would also look hard enough to appreciate its magnificence.

She placed another pill on her tongue. Swallowed.

The wind howled outside. She could almost hear him. Almost.

Reaching for the bottle, she poured three capsules out into her palm. Placed them in her mouth. Traced the cloth underneath her fingertips.

Only ninety some left to go.


End file.
